If we are not allowed
here to ask
From where we come
here what we do
To where we go
here from
Sacrifice the future for the present
bluest tragedy
Retrace the path and the steps
go back to roots
Not of geopolitics
Not of colour or race
Not of techno-deism
Nor of secularism
Dig O dig a grave wide
enough for them
Whether it is international folly
in the garb of thought
Or demonic rulings
of demon-cracy
So suddenly the wind shall blow
To steer the giant truck
O harmattan spare the driver
In his death trap.